Rescue Internationále
by Ship's Cat
Summary: In another time, in another life, but in no less desparate conditions, Rescue Internationále is there.


Rescue Internationále

Lady Burgess snapped her fan open with an expert wrist. A light flutter of the painted silk stirred the air above her sharp gimlet eyes that scouted the room for familiar faces. The premise was crowded, the rooms overheated and the party was sure to be talked about for many a fortnight as a terrible squeeze - but, oh, the lucky ones who were there to enjoy it.

Her own invitation had come about fortuitously through a well-connected, but impoverished cousin who entrusted her latest offspring to Lady Burgess to chaperone for a season. Fortunately, the chit who went by the improbable name of Vitalita, was blessed with good breeding, fair looks, and enough obedience to listen to Lady Burgess. A lack of fortune may not be a hindrance under her direction.

Miss Vitalita, known only to her family as Lita, stood in awe of her first party. She had to endure hours of preparation. Her fine gold locks were teased and waved with hot irons into fashionable curls. Her corset so tight that breathing in more than shallow little puffs was all she was able, the gown, oh how she loved the rich embroidery, the stiff silk as it rustled when she minced along in slippers with jeweled heels. A string of white pearls rested on her cleavage, something she had not before now ever noticed having. Following the lead of the oh-so-wise Lady Burgess she had snapped open her fan and her large blue eyes (one of her better features, so the maid told her) darted around the room. One of these excellent gentlemen would be her husband, Cousin Burgess had promised. Her eye caught that of a fine young man with hair as golden as hers and her heart would have leapt in her breast had not the corset confined it. She could not be sure, but did not their gazes meet? Did he see her?

"Come my dear, we will give our regards to our hostess." Lady Burgess' firm tone took her eyes away from the young man and she was drawn away.

For the next hour or so, Lady Burgess and her charge made their away around the room. A nod sufficed to the Frenchmen attending, one could cut them dead on the street, but in polite circles one was polite, even to those revolutionary animals killing French aristocrats. They were so obvious in their ill fitting clothes and curling lips of disgust even while they were happy to drink their host's wine.

Several gentlemen paid her court with compliments, and charming talk, but Vitalita's eyes darted about the room looking for that simply beautiful man that had first caught her eye. After a buffet supper, of which no one who wore white gloves could seriously eat, she and Lady Burgess sat at the edge of the dance floor and waited with the other ladies for the gentlemen to rejoin them after they did whatever gentlemen did when they weren't complimenting a lady on her beauty.

"Egad!" This very unladylike exclamation from Lady Burgess was muffled quickly by a nervous flutter of her fan. "Lord Tracy!" The fan began to do double time and Vitalita was hard to keep up.

An elegant gentleman with a truly commanding air had entered the room. His unpowdered hair was streaked with gray, yet his physique was of broad shoulders and long legs set off by high topped boots. His cravat was a modest spill of white lace. The walking stick he carried was obviously an affectation as he moved easily through the crowd, stopping to greet friends.

He stopped in front of Lady Burgess and gave a nod and bow which she acknowledged with a sugary smile. "My dear Lord Tracy, what a delightful surprise!" Her tone burgeoned on syrup coated with sugar, "And your sons...do they join you?"

"They may be about." Lord Tracy waved a hand unadorned with ring or snuffbox. "I believe Virgil has some new ditty for the pianoforte and John wishes to support him in this folly." He gave a theatrical sigh. "My sons are a disappointment to me, wastrels all of them. Do not be offering this fair flower." His eyes passed over Vitalita, "to any of them."

The last words were almost threatening and Vitalita shivered.

"What a strange man, and he speaks so...oddly"

"He went as a young man to the colonies and made his fortune there. He returned here when his wife died and to raise his five sons in civilization. He was given the title by the King himself for some reason, some will say he bought the title, but rumor has it he performed some service for his majesty that shall ever remain secret. We do not often see him in public, but his sons...they are as Lord Tracy says wastrels every last one of them, but eligible.

"How so?" Vitalita was intrigued.

Lady Burgess was interrupted by a smattering of laughter, male laughter, as a group of men entered the room. In the center of the group was a dark haired gentleman whose cravat was a perfect waterfall of lace, his coat's gold and jeweled buttons glowed with fire, and his shoes had diamond buckles. As a direct contrast was a tall blond with unpowdered hair that was tied back with a simple black ribband. He was dressed completely in black and the only spot of color on him was a magnificent ruby ring on his left hand.

"Come everyone, Virgil has a new tune for us." A crowd gathered around the pianoforte, including the upstart Frenchies.

"I call it an Ode to Bravery." A smattering of applause greeted the title.

A skilled arpeggio on keys showed that Virgil was an accomplished musician.

_They come by night _

_They come by day_

_To whisk away_

_Those whom the Revolutión_

_Would betray_

_To Madame Guillotine or_

_Perhaps Robs...what is his name?_

_They play a dangerous game_

_Be you poor or rich_

_Just be in peril!_

_They come swift as birds,_

_Strong as oxes_

_Smart as foxes_

_They are boon to one and all!_

_Raise a glass to Rescue Internationále!_

Apparently, one of the Frenchmen to exception to the ditty and was about to do something disastrously uncouth, but the tall blond intercepted him with what seemed a gentle hand on his arm.

"I would not bother my brother, if I were you." His blue eyes glittered cold and menacing. "For I would have to shoot you and it distresses Father so when I kill another man." he whispered for the man's ears only.

"That is the middle brother John, he is a scholar they say, practices alchemy, or astrology or some such thing. Head always in the clouds." Lady Burgess told her charge. "No charm whatsoever."

_Among themselves they called John the Weatherman. His accuracy with foretelling the weather often made the difference between a successful rescue from France or a mad dash by horseback by his brothers to some disaster site to lend a hand. He spent hours at his telescopes and barometers and other instruments he and their good friend Brains could come up with. He also kept the carrier pigeons that were so vital for their communication network._

"The pianist, and such a naughty boy to tease the French like that, is Virgil the second born. He is an artiste. It is rumored that he cares for nothing but wearing the best of clothes. A woman would have to be a cravat to catch his attention." Lady Burgess sniffed. "Though I cant fault the cut of that coat."

Virgil carefully maneuvered the_ steam-driven traction machine to the mine entrance. The heavy boulders would have taken days for men to move even if the pouring rain let up. At least twenty miners were caught in the cave-in, some of them mere children. The great green machine was Brain's greatest contribution to Rescue Internationál in Virgil's opinion. Her attached scoop picked up the boulders like they were dice to throw in a game of chance. His brown hair was plastered to his scalp and he was liberally covered in mud, yet he whistled a merry tune as his 'darling girl' made short work of the disaster._

Vitalita's eye suddenly caught the sight of the man of her dreams. He was leaning in a casual way against the wall and was talking to a short man dressed in the most unusual fashion wearing what seemed to be two monocles on his face. Her sharp breath of excitement caught her chaperone's ear.

"Oh dear no, my dear. That is the youngest Tracy. A fool and a gambler. 'Tis good his father is so wealthy otherwise he would have squandered all on silly bets. It is said he rode a horse backwards to London for a mere wager. Alan Tracy," Lady Burgess said firmly, "is not a Good Man."

The racing coracle was barely touching the road it seemed as it sped down the narrow lane that called itself a road. Alan's passenger, the doctor who had consented to treat the village so stricken with sickness was regretting his acquiescence for about the thousandth time. Rescue Internationál had called on him before, mostly to patch up the young men who seemed to be employed by secretive organization, this was the first time he was called to help directly. They had changed horses twice already and he and the driver who merely called himself 'Alan' were able to drink a glass of wine and eat a biscuit. The doctor's wine and biscuit were unceremoniously tossed over the side of the light built carriage with any other contents his stomach may have contained almost immediately.

Once having delivered the doctor to the stricken village, he found the young man working side by side with him, caring for the ill, and helping those who needed it. Alan, all and sundry in the village declared - was - if not a saint, a good man.

"Who is that odd little man talking to...Alan." Vitalita tasted the sound of his name in her mouth and despite all warnings was still looking at him like a sweetmeat on a plate.

"That my girl is a Mr. Hackenbeeker, or is it Beekenhacken, at any rate he is a protégée of Lord Tracy's. He is apparently quite brilliant..." the Lady's voice dropped to an over audible whisper, "It is rumored that he is the natural son of Benjamin Franklin, the diplomat and inventor."

Deep in the environs of the Tracy estate were old smugglers caves, now being used as the laboratory and secret lair of the great machines that were the brainchild of one young genius. He was aware of the gossip surrounding his origins. He had met the great statesman and inventor once and asked with a stutter whether he was his son.

"You have the brains to be my son, but I doubt you are." The Tracy's took to calling him Brains in an affectionate way.

Lord Tracy had occasion to lead Lady Burgess in a sedate quadrille.

"Tell my Lord, how does your eldest and heir fair these days?"

"Don't hold out any hope for that chit you are chaperoning." He said soberly, "My eldest is a constant trial for me, he always has a new lady love on his arm and never serious about any of them." he continued wryly.

"Put your arms around my neck, my sweetling." Scott Tracy whispered into the little shell ear of the girl. She obeyed with a little moan, pressing her head into his broad shoulder. He stood up and extended a hand to the little girl's mother who took it silently, but arose with great dignity despite the prison cell surroundings of straw, dirt, and vermin.

"My husband..." she whispered.

"Is safe." was the quiet rejoinder. "Now come. A boat and your husband await us."

They moved silently past guards who were noisily snoring over tipped tankards of ale. The gate of the prison was opened by a guard who then stood carefully looking the other way. A hay cart stood waiting for them and they were hidden under the cart in a small compartment.

"I apologize for the discomfort." Scott Tracy said.

"No apology is needed." The imprisoned French lady gave him a curtsey and a quick kiss on the cheek. She then clambered into the space with her little girl.

Scott swung up onto the bench of the wagon. A scurrilous looking redhead with an eyepatch grinned at him. "The women just can't keep their hands off you, can they?"

"Shut up and drive, Gordon."

"And what of your other son, Gordon?" Lady Burgess asked, "Has the King forgiven him yet? I hear that he was forbidden to step on English soil for a year."

"He remains at sea. His majesty was kind enough not to sentence him to the Tower for high treason."

"It was, I believe a frog in a soup tureen..." Lady Burgess ventured. "At a royal banquet."

"No sense at all to the boy." Lord Tracy said dryly. "No sense at all."

The hay wagon had been stopped at the city gates by the guard, but Gordon's country patois had them greatly confused.

"Oy, Aye, be ferever mite outter fer gammitch eh? Naer, Naer!" he laughed.

"Get on with you old man." the soldier gave up trying to understand what the man had said, besides which, they had riffled through the straw and found nothing.

Scott's shoulders were shaking silently in laughter as they sped as fast as the nags pulling the cart could take them.

"How did you get so clever?" Scott nudged him with an elbow.

"Four older brothers to deal with." The red head replied. "His majesty recognized that as a credible excuse not to hang me. He actually wanted to pardon me, but I persuaded him that a year at sea ferrying emigres and victims of the revolution in France, would be of more service to him."

"Not to speak of the fishing boat you rescued last month." Scott mentioned.

"That's what Rescue Internationále is about." Gordon said and shook the reins to get a little more speed. He hated being on shore and his sleek racing schooner was waiting for him in a secluded cove, ready to set sail with him as captain at the helm.

Lady Burgess and Vitalita left the party well satisfied with the evenings doings. The gossip was choice, there was news to spread and one was seen and noted. Vitalita was disappointed not to have danced with the delicious looking Alan Tracy, but there were other swains who were happy to pay tribute to her.

Jefferson Tracy and his sons climbed into their carriage. A shadowy person sat in the corner.

"Zounds!" Virgil said, "Gave me a start for a moment.

The men heard a light feminine chuckle, "It is just I, Penelope."

"Any problem m'lady?" The carriage driver turned in his seat.

"No Parker, drive on." Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward would hardly be recognized in the dark cloak and hat and the man's attire that she affected. "I take it the party was successful?"

"I believe so," Lord Tracy said, "I am sure we have painted a truly awful picture of the Tracy's that no will ever connect us with Rescue Internationále. Well played, boys."

"Now, I have heard that Scott will be on English soil with the Count and Countess of Burbine and their daughter within a day or two - if the weather holds."

"It holds." John said with surety.

"I have something more of interest to Rescue Internationále..." Penelope smiled.

"And what might that be?" Lord Tracy and the rest looked interested.

"Have you ever heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel? I believe we can credit him with some of our rescues as well. Who would deny it? Not the French, not the Pimpernel himself, whoever he may be."

"Excellent idea Penny. But from now on you can attend the parties."

"But father, I had fun." Alan protested and got a cuff on the head from his brother John. "Unnatural Tracy, those parties are not for fun. They are for women to catch husbands and you almost got caught tonight by that Vitalita girl."

Alan's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Caught? Father, I wasn't caught, could I - I only smiled at her, can that mean marriage`" his voice rose in nervousness.

"Y-your br brother's are t teasing you." Brains said gently. "B-but you r-really should be be careful." His eyes twinkled behind the thick lenses. "Rescue Internationále cant rescue you from a d-determined m-matchmaker."

They all laughed as the sun rose over the English sky.


End file.
